The Plan
by rulesandscrictures
Summary: AU. Captain John Watson is asked to help in an important assignment by a man calling himself Sherlock Holmes. As the mission plays out, however, it becomes clear that there is far more to this then meets the eye. John/Sherlock to come.
1. Chapter 1

**This story was fuelled by a friend of mine, who said she really enjoyed John 'pulling rank' during Series 2, and how she wished we had seen more of his military side. From that, an AU story formed in my mind, and here it is, coming to fruition. I hope you enjoy. This might go to Sherlock/John, emphasis on the might.**

It was late at night, but Mycroft Holmes was still at the office, and was going to be here for a long time to come, the way things were going. He pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, rubbing lightly the space between his tired eyes.

He was attempting to convince a representative of the Armed Forces that the plan he had just detailed was a good one, and one that would work. It was taking some work. The Colonel before him was no fool, but he was suspicious. Especially, it seemed, of government and intelligence types.

"Mr Holmes, this simply isn't possible. We have officers who would, of course, be capable of what you ask, but I do not wish to move such officers away from their current positions, they are needed where they are."

"I can assure you, Colonel, this operation would take no more then a few days. Surely a few days will not be such an inconvenience?"

"Even if it _were_ possible, it will take time to draft a list and select a suitable-"

"Actually, I already have a candidate in mind."

Holmes extracted a dossier from amidst the papers on the table before them, and handed it to the Colonel. It was stamped Confidential. The Colonel looked down at it, a slight frown on his face.

"Captain John Hamish Watson, Doctor of Medicine, with the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. From his service record, he has had an exemplary career."

"How did you get this?" There was part annoyance, part shock in the Colonel's voice.

"I have enough authority for my requests to be met. This doctor is based in a camp that currently has four other military doctors. His position can be covered, if needed. As a member of the military, I trust he will also be capable of taking down any resistance, should any occur."

"How can you be sure this will not be in vain? Can your source be trusted?" Mycroft could sense he was in the final stretch. The Colonel could now see that this man had it all planned, and what was more, that he had authority. His resistance was waning. He gave a smile.

"He can be trusted. He is rarely wrong, and he will be in the firing line should the plans go awry."

"He will be the one going?"

"This is his party, so to speak. Besides, he would never allow others to go in his stead, it would be unthinkable."

The colonel gave a slight chuckle.

"You speak as though you know him."

"Oh, I do. He is my brother." Mycroft spoke the words quite baldly, and saw the slightest flicker of shock on the Colonel's face. _The final nail in the coffin_, he thought with a sense of satisfaction. He could see the sense of logic in the man's mind: If he was allowing a member of his own family to take part in this mission, he must be very certain of it's success. Therefore, it only made sense to see where this went...

"I will need to speak to his Commanding Officer about this, as well as Captain Watson himself. Only then can I give you your answer."

"No need." Mycroft said, getting to his feet. "My brother has already left for Afghanistan, with permission from military command. He will be able to... pitch the plan to the Major and Captain in his own unique way."

There was another flicker of surprise on the Colonel's face, which quickly turned to anger.

"You assume a great deal, Sir. For all we know, the Captain might refuse the operation."

Mycroft gave a tired smile as he pulled his coat on.

"You haven't met my brother, Colonel. He can be extremely persuasive when he needs to be. Good night to you."

With that, Mycroft left, leaving the Colonel to make quick calls to verify what he had said was indeed true... and to ponder what the hell was going to happen.

Christ, John was glad of air conditioned tents sometimes. The good thing about living on the larger bases was that almost all tents were air conditioned, meaning that you weren't trying to fix a man's leg in 40 degree heat in the shade. In a couple of outposts he had been to, things were certainly harder. And then of course, there were the times you were out in the field, working on a badly injured soldier or (worse) civilians with bullets flying around. _Be grateful for the small things in life..._

"More light, please." He said, and the lamp above the surgical table was moved so that the light on the area he was working on became brighter.

He was currently clearing a wound in the chest of a young private who had been brought back from a routine patrol dripping in blood. An Improvised Explosive Device had gone off without warning, but it was the shrapnel inside it that had injured three of the patrol. This man was the most badly injured, and was currently under anaesthetic.

He examined the wound carefully, checking for any tiny fragments of metal or glass he might have missed. This one had been lucky. Six fragments had hit him, but none had seriously damaged him. He would need rest, for certain, might even need to go home to do it, but he'd recover.

"Alright, this man is clear. Move on to suturing and bandaging, then have him transferred for recovery."

As he left the operating room and cleaned up, John felt a sense of tiredness. He recognised the young soldier on the table; had seen him arrive for his tour all of a month ago. He often recognised patients, but sometimes, it was a gut-wrenching moment, especially if it seemed they were beyond help.

He was just about ready to leave when a private came into the tent and saluted him quickly.

"Excuse me captain, i've been asked to tell you that the Major wants to see you. He said it's urgent."

John's brows drew together for a moment. Major Chatley was his immediate superior, and the man in charge of his entire unit. He gave a nod.

"Thank you private, i'll go over there now."

He exited the tent just behind the private, and made his way through the camp towards the Major's office.

"Captain Watson!"

He looked round to see Lieutenant Karen Williams jogging to catch up with him. She was perhaps one of those he worked most closely with out here.

"I just got a report back about Corporal Jackson. He's been transported safely back to the UK, and it looks like he'll recover."

John gave a relieved sigh. Corporal Jackson had been injured out in the field, and he had genuinely thought that he wouldn't make it, his injuries had been so severe and he had lost a lot of blood. But he had held on, and after getting him back to base they had managed to tend to his injuries enough that he was critical, but stable. Still... the ride back to Britain was long, and John had been worried.

"I'm glad. Things looked hairy there for a bit."

"Too true Sir. He's made of strong stuff, that one."

John gave a chuckle.

"Let's just hope he gets to use that stuff."

They continued walking towards the officers quarters.

"You going to see the Major?" Williams asked.

"Mm, some sort of meeting."

"Sounds serious."

"I'm as clueless as you are, believe me."

"Well, good luck Sir." Williams said with a smile, and as John turned left towards an office door she kept going straight.

John knocked on the door, heard the word "Enter." and went inside.

Major Chatley was tall, broad and dark-haired. As John stepped forward and saluted at attention, he looked round, and so did the other man in the room. Also tall, also dark-haired, but slighter, younger. The Major spoke.

"At ease. Sit down Watson. Thank you for coming promptly."

John moved to the free chair before the Major's desk. He cast a glance towards the other man. He didn't look military; at least, he wasn't wearing a uniform, instead a well-cut shirt and trousers. Clothing John certainly didn't associate with out here. The man seemed quite at his ease however. After a moment, John cleared his throat.

"The private said the matter you wanted to discuss was urgent, Sir."

"Well, I have been _told_ it's urgent." The Major cast a glance towards the other man. "This... is Sherlock Holmes, Captain, he has just arrived from London. Mr Holmes, this is Captain John-"

"I am aware of who he is." Said Sherlock Holmes. His tone wasn't necessarily rude, but abrupt, as though such pleasantries as exchanging names were a waste of time. He turned his head to look at John, fixing him with a piercing, blue eyed stare. "I asked for you to be brought here, Captain, as there is something I wish to discuss with you."

"What sort of something is this?" John asked after a moment. For a moment, he thought he saw a slight smile on the other man's face. As though he found the question amusing.

"An offer. An assignment."

"I would have appreciated being informed of what this 'assignment' was before now, Mr Holmes." Major Chatley's tone of voice was disgruntled. "Or, indeed, being told of your arrival more then the two hours warning we actually received."

"Well, now that the Captain has arrived, you can both be informed at the same time." Sherlock said, somewhat cooly John thought. He had to hand it to the man, he had some gall. If the Major had been glaring at him the way he was now looking at this strange man, he'd have been running, but Sherlock Holmes appeared completely cool and collected. He turned to face John again, effectively ignoring the Major.

"My offer concerns a matter that requires attention. I require someone with medical expertise, and since you are the highest ranking military doctor in this base, I would assume you know something about injuries and deaths."

"I've seen more then my fair share, i'd say." John said blandly. Again, he saw a slight twitch of the man's lips, but his face quickly became a cool mask again.

"Then you'll do perfectly."

"Excuse me, but are you saying you want to take one of my qualified doctors from this base for some operation?" Major Chatley's tone was hostile. Not least, John guessed, from the fact that he was being cold-shouldered.

"Yes, that is what i'm saying."

"It can't be done." Chatley's tone was flat, decisive. "You're wasting your time here."

"You're saying so without even listening to what the assignment is?"

Before the Major could answer (and potentially send the man off), John spoke up.

"Major, I would like to hear what he has to say, rather then simply sending him packing back to London."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sherlock cast him a look. It was a searching look, and John had the idea that the man was reassessing his opinion of him. Chatley huffed.

"Fine. Speak your piece, Holmes."

For a moment, John thought that Sherlock was about to answer back... but he simply gave a little nod, then looked at John.

"There is a man currently in hiding in this country whom I am... keeping a watch on. I believe he may have been badly injured recently, and I know his location."

"And... you need me to come and tend to his injuries?" John guessed.

"No. I need you to help me kill him." Sherlock said quietly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow... thank you to everyone for the review, alerts and favourites. It's always great to see that others will be following the story you write. This is taking a different twist then I originally planned... which is a good thing, I think. It took me a little longer then normal to write this, due to those plot changes. Also, be aware, Sherlock/Moriarty is becoming involved.**

**Please, review. I like to see feedback, and always seek to improve my writing skills.**

They had found a quieter room in which to discuss the matter. Chatley's office was, of course, private, but he needed it free for other matters throughout the day. There was also the fact that he and Sherlock had an instant dislike for each other, and Chatley tended to be very rude to those he disliked. This Sherlock Holmes was an unknown entity as yet, so caution was needed.

This room was technically John's own office. Since he was a rank below Chatley, he was, in a sense, second in command, and the highest ranking medical personnel in the unit (he hadn't been able to decide if that was a good or bad thing yet). He had never seen a need to be in here though, since his job was hands-on, and for his own time and space he had his quarters. The room was small, sparse, but served it's purpose.

As they entered the room, John switched on the lamp on the desk, then glanced around. Sherlock had already come inside, and was looking around him. John was having trouble reading his expression. It was almost... frustrated. But John couldn't see what, in this room, could cause frustration.

"Have a seat." John said, as a way to break the silence. He gestured to one of the chairs before the desk.

"You don't use this office." Sherlock said, as he took a seat. It was a statement, not a question.

"No... I don't see the point. The medical bay and surgical table are my real places of work." John came and sat down opposite him. Again, there was that frustrated look. "Why is that a problem for you."

"It's difficult to read military people. You all wear the same uniform, and it's always spotless, or else covered in very similar stuff. Sand, blood, mud... you get the picture. I hoped your office would give _some_ clue."

"I'm sorry... what do you mean?" John really wasn't following. Sherlock seemed slightly hesitant.

"I... read people. You can tell a lot about a person from what they wear, their hair, their mannerisms. All i've been able to read about you is that you're a military doctor, you've just come back from doing a medical procedure, and you don't trust me yet." His eyes were on John's, and it was very hard not to blink, not to confirm his assumption.

"How did you know about the second two?" John asked after a moment.

"There was a smell of anti-bacterial gel as you came into the office. Not that cheap... hand sanitiser stuff either, the proper version used by doctors and nurses. So you've just scrubbed up after a procedure. And the second one... I wouldn't trust a person i'd just met who'd told me he wants help to kill a man either."

John let out a faint chuckle, despite himself.

"Wow... alright. Are you going to tell me what this is about?"

Sherlock leaned back for a moment... seemed to be considering him again. Then he got up in a fluid motion, began to walk around the room. As he walked, he began to speak.

"The man I seek is a criminal. He has major ties in London and many other parts of the world and has amassed his own... network, so to speak. He is a dangerous man, and needs to be stopped. This is the perfect opportunity to do so."

"You said he was injured..."

"Yes. One of his deals went wrong. There was a failure he did not foresee. The men who failed were taken out, but not before they managed to injure him first. He will not be able to run far, he needs to stay where he is for treatment."

"Then why kill him? Why not find him, have him arrested?"

"No." Sherlock's voice was flat, colder then before. "That is not the answer here. He would find a way to escape prison, have a back-up plan. There is only one way for this to end."

John was watching the man closely.

"You speak as though you know him."

"I do." Sherlock answered abruptly. Seeing from the corner of his eye John's blank expression, he gave a little more illumination. "We were... intimate. Not in a loving or personal manner, he isn't... that sort of creature. It was a means to get what he wanted, nothing more."

"I see." He really did. He wasn't going to make the man specify. Truth be told, he didn't want to know. After a moment, John got to his feet. "And what did he get from this?"

"Government secrets. Plans. He... _convinced_ me to speak to my brother, who is in the government, and get his information."

"Jesus..." John said softly, and Sherlock glanced round at him. John was looking down at the floor, obviously milling it all over. Sherlock was stunned. He had expected... revulsion, confusion, something along those lines. But the man looked as though he understood the implications... as though he understood all of it. He felt part relief, part anger. He really _hated_ it when his brother was right about things. It looked as though he had been right about choosing John Watson.

"If what you're saying is all true... I can see why you want to do this. And i'd consider helping yo find him but..." John hesitated, glanced away. This was new territory for him. "I'm no expert in killing people, Mr Holmes-"

"Sherlock." Sherlock corrected.

"... Sherlock. I'm a soldier, so yes, i've been trained with guns, I can shoot people..."

"You misunderstand me. I didn't say I wanted you to shoot a man, or to kill him. I need you to _help_ me kill him."

"So... you want my advice?"

"In a manner of speaking. I... would be happier to discuss this if you said you were interested in taking part."

"Huh... no pressure then." John leant forwards, thinking it over. After what must have been a full minute, he looked up and gave a nod. "I'm interested in helping. Convincing the Major, however, could be a big task."

Sherlock paused, unsure whether he should ask the question in his mind. But it needed asking.

"Then why are you convinced?"

"Because..." John considered for a moment, then spoke truthfully "I see no reason not to trust you. You've been frank with me about something that..." He shook his head slightly to show his disbelief. "While I don't understand why you've been so frank, I respect that."

"Fair enough." Sherlock said, with a slight smile. John felt an odd flipping sensation in his stomach.

"So... will you tell me now what my role in this will be?"

"It's two-fold. You guessed correctly, I do want your advice, your... help in how to do this. A way to make this quick. I also need your assistance in a second part."

"Which is?"

"Well..." Sherlock considered for a moment, then gave what, looking back, John considered a teasing smile. "How do you feel about espionage?"


End file.
